Blueberries
by HolyFramework
Summary: Takeru never seems capable of doing anything long term. Relationships, hobbies, you name it. Who or what will it take to make him finally settle down and enjoy all his life has to offer? YAOI
1. Blueberries

Hi all. My second HM fanfic and whatnot. Erm, right, so a few things: 1. This story is a **_yaoi_**, boy/boy, so if you don't like that sort of thing feel free to read something else. 2. I don't know if this is too **_explicit_ **for fanfiction's liking, so at the chance that my story is banned for some reason, I may post it on my livejournal for all interested (filthiness intact). 3. I have no idea where this story is going or what it's really about so just bear with me here and keep reading it if you enjoy it.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

**Blueberries**

"Hey, so you're that new farm guy right?"

Takeru looked up from the haze of his drink (a blueberry cocktail, his favorite) and peered at the man sitting next to him. He couldn't recall his name, but he remembered the bright, pointy red hair and the gleaming smile from a few weeks earlier.

"Oh, yeah. My name is Takeru."

"Owen," The man held out his large hand. The shake seemed slow and fast at all the same time. Takeru turned back to his drink awkwardly, noticing after a few silent moments that Owen was staring at him.

"So farm work, huh?" Owen commented.

Takeru nodded slowly. "Yeah. Farm work. It's a killer."

"I bet it is." He was now aware of the fact that Owen was sweeping him with his eyes, making sure to take in every inch of him. He felt himself growing warm and he drained the rest of his drink, intensifying the sensation with the alcohol.

"What are you having?" Owen asked, pointing at the empty glass.

"Blueberry. It's my favorite." Takeru near whispered.

"Hey, Hayden! Another blueberry for my friend here!" Owen called, slapping the table. From the other end of the bar near the cash register, Hayden nodded never taking his eyes off the glass he was cleaning. Something in his movements told Takeru that Owen did this often.

The drink came sliding down the counter, cold and icy. Takeru grabbed it and nodded his thanks, dumping the contents down his throat. He suddenly felt very thirsty.

"So," Owen started, fiddling with the stem of his own glass. "Where do you live exactly? Something's telling me you're going to need some help getting home."

Takeru slapped a gold piece down on the table and didn't wait for Owen to follow him.

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><p>They fucked hard and slippery. Their bodies were slicked with sweat and they slid against each other with a fervent rhythm. Takeru didn't bite back his cries of pleasure and clung onto his bed post for dear life as Owen's big hands and big body screwed him relentlessly.<p>

Takeru ignored the pain, both emotional and physical, as Owen's cock drummed the inside of his asshole. When he came he tasted blueberries in his mouth, an explosion of their sweetness burning his tongue.

Owen gathered his coat slowly, almost as though he didn't want to leave. He stared at Takeru the entire time.

"Well," He said when he was at the door, hand on the knob, looking back at him. "Guess I'll see you then, huh?"

Takeru lay on the bed with his knees tucked up to his chin. He was too drunk, too tired to say anything.

Owen stood there for a few minutes more and heaved a sigh that sounded reluctant and disappointed.

"Okay then," He replied softly.

Takeru closed his eyes as he heard the door click shut. His sleep was plagued with dreams and the constant feeling of Owen's hands gripping his waist, his breathing hot and heavy in his ear.

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><p>He avoided the bar from that night on. Any time he wanted to get drunk he went to the General store and discreetly bought a bottle of some kind of strong liquor. He never cared what. Despite the fact that he missed Hayden's blueberry cocktails, he knew he couldn't go back there again. He wasn't strong enough to face it. To face him.<p>

Every night he drank himself into a stupor, until he passed out with all the effort of chugging down the burning liquids. The first couple of nights he started out with one or two glasses, but in two weeks he was down to drinking straight out the bottle. By the next month his house was littered with various bottles, shining with half empty insides that were amber and burgundy. It didn't take long for him to begin neglecting his farm work and the animals. The fields became overcrowded with weeds that grew long and viney up the fruit trees. Big boulders mysteriously appeared over night, stamping out the rest of his crops and making the field appear gray and drab. His animals wailed for food for nights and nights until many of them fell silent. He was too afraid to venture into the coop and barn to see what became of his neglect.

He continued to drink until he was too weak and stupid to go and make the trip to the General store. Deliveries were made at his doorstep now, silently and quickly, as if whomever was dropping off those boxes didn't want to meet the person inside responsible for causing the chaos the farm was in.

Takeru merely took the drinks back to his bed and drank and drank, until one night a bottle he hadn't even opened rolled out of his hand and crashed to the floor. His arm hung limply off the side of his bed, his chest barely moving.

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><p>Pray forgive any and all spelling errors, grammatical errors, etc. I'm kind of lazy...<p> 


	2. Sickness

_Ahh_, right. I also feel the need to explain that this story is sort of like a vignette of sorts-well, _kind of_. These should probably be drabbles, but I suck at drabbles, so this is what I came up with. I hope it won't become too confusing.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

**Sickness**

When he awoke he was in the clinic. The pale, anxious face of Dr. Jin loomed above his, peering at him with concern and murmuring instructions to Irene. His hand, soft yet firm, pushed the hair out of Takeru's eyes and brushed his brow.

"Why would you do something like this to yourself?" He asked quietly.

Takeru's reply was a feeble shrug.

In a few weeks time he was feeling better. News had gotten around that he had drank himself into unconsciousness. Much of the feedback was hardly sympathetic. It looked like the boy whom everyone thought would be the answer to all their problems on the island turned out to be nothing more than a pitiful, reclusive drunk. Go figure. Takeru was fully capable of walking out that clinic, but found that getting out of bed was too hard, and the prospect of facing all those accusatory eyes too much.

"He can't just stay here forever," He heard Irene telling Dr. Jin one night in the hallway. "We have other patients, you know. YOU have other patients. You've fretted over him long enough. It's time that he go back to his home."

"I can't let him do that yet. I can't...I can't let him out of my sight. Not until I'm sure he's okay."Jin replied.

He heard Irene sigh irritably and then saw Jin's shadow creeping toward the door. He pretended to be asleep when the doctor poked his head in to look at him. He knew that Jin stood at that door for a long time. Just watching. Or maybe not.

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><p>"It's time for your pills," The doctor announced one rainy evening. Takeru sat up in surprise.<p>

"I thought Irene was suppose to give them to me? She usually does," He told him.

"Irene's taking a little time off today," Jin said, shaking a few pills into his palm.

"That's not like her."

"No," Jin took a pill into his fingers and held it out to him. "It's not."

Takeru hesitated before taking the pill with his tongue. He watched Jin as he swallowed it, noticing that the doctor had gray eyes, not brown like he originally thought.

"How do you feel?" Jin asked.

"Your eyes are beautiful," Takeru answered automatically. The two stared at one another before his lips were engulfed by Jin's, his tongue forcing its way inside his mouth. The raging storm outside masked the whining of the mattress springs as the two of them made them creak over and over again.

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><p>When Takeru finally got sick he ordered all of his medicine through the telephone. Once again, it arrived in a box that was hastily dropped off by some apprehensive deliverer who was intent upon not meeting him face to face.<p>

The phone rang off the hook and the caller ID told him it was Jin. It rang insistently for a straight week before finally stopping. A couple of times Takeru was sure he heard knocking at the door but he just retreated farther and farther inside his house, making sure to keep the windows closed and the lights turned off.

He suddenly found himself eating more. He never bothered with cooking much, but became entranced with the elaborate process of throwing together simple ingredients and coming out with delicious creations. Soon he was devouring his recipe books and making batches of sweet smelling food that filled his house with a plethora of sumptuous smells.

Some of it he ate.

Most of it sat out on the kitchen counter until it became blanketed with mold and lumpy with rot. Takeru found that he could cover up the smell by making a new dish. Once it was finished, he would set it out on the counter. It would stand there smelling wonderful and delectable, until it grew ugly and gray too.

Some time later, gathering up the courage, he forced himself to go down near the beach to look through the bushes for fresh blueberries for a pie he was planning on making.

"You cooked the muffins right?" A voice asked from behind him.

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><p>Oho! Who could the mysterious stranger be, hmmm?<p> 


	3. Muffins

**Chapter 3**

**Muffins**

"You cooked the muffins right?" A voice asked from behind him.

Startled, Takeru turned around and recognized the guy from the bar with the soft, fluffy-looking strawberry blonde hair and blue hair clips.

"Muffins?"

"Yeah, the muffins," the guy said. "The blueberry ones. You baked them, right?"

"I...I guess," Takeru watched his reaction closely as he asked, "Did you like them?"

He shrugged. "They were okay. Rushed, but okay. You could have used a little more sugar and less blueberries."

"I guess I could have," Takeru admitted.

The guy watched him for a little while longer before turned back the way he came.

"Come over to my place if you want to learn how to make some decent ones. You could use the extra help, _trust_ me," He called to him, never once turning around.

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><p>He began staying at Chase's house every night re-baking batches of blueberry muffins. The chef just sighed when he made one batch without enough butter or put too much sugar in the dough. He would patiently take the tray from his hands and throw the treats into the garbage telling him to start over.<p>

Takeru went from wondering why he even agreed to these lessons in the first place, to being frustrated that Chase kept telling him what an idiot he was. It wasn't long before he became determined to wipe the impassive smirk off Chase's face and make the best damn muffins the man had ever tasted. He studied recipes and handbooks into the wee hours of the night, until his window became pink with the first light of dawn, certain that with tenacity he would knock down the barrier that kept him from perfection.

With the next batch he took care to use all that he learned from Chase's mockery and penalization, and poured it all into the batter as if it was a tangible ingredient to making his muffins a success. Once the oven time dinged, he snatched the tray, still hot out the oven, and ran all the way to Chase's house in the cold night. He stood beating down his door until a light flicked on in the inside. When the door opened, Chase didn't look at all surprised to see him. He wordlessly took a muffin and bit into it, chewing slowly and purposefully as he always did. After the first swallow, Takeru caught the way he tried to mask the light that flickered in his eyes. He was more than impressed.

"I guess you've finally learned something, huh?" Chase commented snidely, but Takeru knew it was his way of telling him that was he was proud.

Takeru smiled. "Yeah, I guess I did."

He suddenly shivered as a gust of wind blew past him harshly. He had forgotten he was standing outside the entire time.

"Goddess, come in already, it's freezing out here," Chase said, holding the door open. Takeru ambled inside and placed the muffins on a table by the door.

"Did you want to keep them?" He asked Chase.

But Chase wasn't looking at the muffins. The expression on his face warmed Takeru all the way down to the tips of his cold fingers.

"Did you want them?" Takeru asked again.

"You _know _what I've been wanting," Chase answered.

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><p>They knocked down a bowl of batter sitting on the kitchen counter. They tangled themselves in the mixture, sugar, butter, flour, and milk locking their bodies into a delectable embrace. When Chase came he pushed Takeru's head down onto the floor. He licked up the batter there, trying to savor every last bite.<p>

Takeru didn't bake anymore after that. He burned all of his recipe books and never looked at another blueberry again. One afternoon he thought he saw Chase's fluffy hair by his window but when he dared look out there was nothing there. He never heard from him again.

He was back to eating microwavable dinners.

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><p>Takeru has <em>issues<em>...


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